Scream In Blue
by explodeychik
Summary: A mostly AU Rambaldi saga. SarkneyJuSi. Rated for language and probable violent situations.
1. Bang Bang Part 1

** A.N. **This is my first Alias fic, so don't go toooo harsh on me. I would really love some feedback though. This is a Sarkney (not for a while though), but will have some references to horrible things like S/V and Lark I suppose, with JuSi, and J/I. It is not all about romance though! Mostly a retelling of the whole Rambaldi stuff. AU from mid-season 2, with some changes that will hopefully be obvious.

**Timeline. **Just before Sydney's missing 2 years, there are flashbacks to earlier stuff though.

**Anything else. **I don't own 'em! The title is from a _Midnight Oil _song of the same namewith the chapter heading the title of a _Dizzy Gillespie _song. **  
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**Scream in Blue**

**Bang Bang Part 1**

_The little girl tossed and turned, twisted limbs askew amongst her pink, fairy emblazoned quilt. Beads of sweat formed across her forehead; fine hair becoming knotted, clinging to her flushed cheeks. Small eyelids squeezed tightly, subconsciously trying to close her mind to whatever thoughts were haunting her. Slowly, they blinked open, revealing the waking world. One in which she was safe from the creepy 'tree men' who plagued her dreams. They were as tall as the sky, with long, spindly branches, lurching forward to scoop her up. Instead of leaves, they appeared to be shrouded in long, grey tendrils, like an old man's beard. The whispering dream world they inhabited, filled her with a sense of dread which never seemed to materialize. The trees were nothing like the huge weeping willow standing proud and tall in her garden. The one her father hung a small plank of wood and rope from, for her to swing the days away. That was green and lush, its' canopy grazing the heavens, not staring down menacingly from the dark depths of the midnight sky._

_Sydney sat up in bed and quickly hopped off, bundling her dolly under her arm and followed the soft sounds of laughter to the living room. A warm light emanated from the small space between door and shiny hardwood floor. She timidly pushed the door and peered through the crack with wide eyes._

_The woman was seated on the man's lap, his arms holding her close, fingers playing with the ends of her long, chestnut hair. Noses nuzzling necks, soft murmurs Sydney could not make out. Then one eye opened, focusing on her hidden spot in the shadows behind the door. The other face turned. And two fingers motioned her forward. She snuggled into her mother's warm embrace, sniffling about the monsters in the dark, as her father relinquished his hold on the woman and sent them on their way. _

_Her mother tucked her back under her covers, quilt up to chin, with dolly still secured tightly under arm. She stroked her hair back from her eyes, behind ears, and told her a tale to soothe the darkness away._

_Sydney listened to her mother's voice and felt herself in the dark woods again, wandering aimlessly through the night. A sudden flash and light was all around her. She looked behind, but it was gone. Another flash, and she felt a scorching heat rush over her. She ran. Her small feet a blur, but her face moved in slow motion. She felt the sweat sliding along her skin and dripping off into the wind. Then with no warning it was black again, and she found herself standing at the gate of a small cottage. The gate opened with an unearthly creak, and lights flickered from nowhere, illuminating a short, dusty path. The cottage came to life, literally. It turned on strange, retractable legs, and a small door appeared at the end of the path. Opening wide, it urged her inside._

_Her small body walked through and Sydney saw a grey-haired, old woman hunched in the corner, puffing steadily on a long, golden pipe. Swirls of smoke danced through the room, making her feel woozy. The woman's eyes flashed at her, daring her to speak. Sydney sank back a little, but the woman tipped the contents of her pipe into the fireplace, stood up and hobbled over to Sydney. She patted her on the head, and in an instant, Sydney felt strangely uncomfortable. Her knees were now pressed up against her chin, hands and arms curled under and around her legs. Shoulders hunched over her chest, she felt like a giant trying to fit into a pixie shoe. _

"_I saw things!"_

"_Yes, child." The old woman nodded._

"_I saw a...a...a, black horseman. Out there." Sydney pointed as best she could outside. "I was frightened. The dark...I...do not..." She could not quite finish her sentence._

_She nodded again. "My servant is who you saw. My black, dark night."_

"_And, then. Then, it was bright, and I could barely see anything. Just a flash. I thought I was blind, but the flash faded away..."_

_Another nod. "My white horseman. My dawn, my bright dawn." She smiled up at Sydney._

"_Then, I was running. I was so hot, I thought I was going to melt! The world was red." Sydney flicked her head to the fireplace, gazing into the burning embers before returning her focus to the woman. "Was the world on fire?"_

_The old woman shook her head and merely told her, "My servant, child. My red sun."_

_The world outside was flashing, light streaming through the windows of the cottage. The brightness hurt Sydney's eyes, even closed she could feel it, imprinting shapes on her mind's eye. As it faded, she opened them again to feel the heat of the red sun assault her senses. As if knowing what was coming, Sydney squeezed through the small door of the cottage. She towered over the small dwelling now, and felt brave for a moment. She thought of running, out of the woods, back to her big weeping willow, her home, before the horseman came closer to her. He brought the night with him. She saw the sky changing, a bright red succumbing to inky nothingness. _

_The horses' eyes gleamed red, and Sydney felt a sudden burning pain in her shoulder. She fell to the ground, and saw the old woman standing over her, chocolate eyes glistening._

"_Truth takes time, child."_

"_I don't understand." Sydney looked up to the woman who was carefully examining her wound. When she seemed satisfied, she turned back toward her home._

"_Without the dark night, we would never have a bright dawn." Her voice trailed off as she walked through the door, a small smile crinkling her old face. The door closed tight, an unusual 'hum' filling the air. It looked as though the door was never there, the edges blended into the cottage walls, seams soldered by an electric blue glow tracing its outline, then fading to grey again._

_In an instant, the strange legs that had been tucked under, lifted the cottage, as if hiking up a skirt to step across a puddle. It then turned a perfect half circle and re-established its foundations on terra firma. All the lights flickering along the gate faded, then cut completely, leaving Sydney alone, in the dark once more._

_Sydney removed her hand from her shoulder. It was sticky, felt cold against the breath of the horse looking down over her. And suddenly, up close, the horse was not so scary anymore. Its' mane, was silky, glowing. Eyes like black pearls, gleaming with something she knew was not malicious, but knowing. Twitching ears which seemed like horns of the devil earlier, now were just alert, always moving, ever aware. Slowly, Sydney lifted her bloodied hand, summoning courage to pat the beast's nose._

_When her hand was almost at the animal's snout, her world shook. In the blink of an eye, she was running through a field of green. Swimming in knee high grass, almost drowning in it. There was noise all around her, so loud it echoed in her ears. She turned around and saw herself. She was lying, taking cover, from what she did not yet know, in the grass, staring in disbelief. Tears threatened to burn past her lashes. _

"_Give me your hand!" Yelled a voice from somewhere above her._

_Sydney looked down at her bloodied hand. Instinctively it reached up to her damaged shoulder again and she saw fresh blood beginning to flow. Streaming through her fingers, under nails, and forming perfect, rounded droplets on the green clovers padding her feet._

_She lifted her arm to the voice, and through clouded eyes, saw two perfect blue ones staring back. Pain screamed through her side, but she kept her hand up, reaching to his gathering arms, arms now painted with her blood._

"_I'll never let you go, Sydney."_

_Her eyes looked to her shoulder. There was no gaping wound, just a small, puckered scar. She closed her eyes and allowed the noise in her ears to become louder and louder, until she was sure her ear drums would burst._

**∞**

_Present Day. Los Angeles._

Sydney woke with a start. _Sark? _She pondered, shaking her head, as a bead of sweat trailed her temple. Her side ached. Had she slept on it too long? She felt her heart thumping, trying to pound its way straight through her rib cage, as her fore finger rubbed absent-mindedly on the small scar on her shoulder.

Her cell phone rang. _How long has that been ringing?_ She reached to her bedside table, and flicked it open.

"_Sydney?_"

"Dad?" She managed to croak out.

"_I need to see you."_

She thought she said _ok_, but her throat refused to co-operate. It felt dry, raspy, as if she had spent the night screaming like a hormone-fueled teenager at a Robbie Williams concert. With phone to chest, she tried clearing her throat again and attempted to answer her father.

"Ok. Give me 30 minutes. Usual place?"

"_Are you feeling alright, Sydney?"_

"Sure, Dad." She smiled, as if it would magically convince her father through the phone, somehow. "Just woke up is all. I will see you soon."

With a sigh, she dragged herself from her warm covers and slipped into the bathroom. Hair pulled back into a ponytail, she splashed her tired eyes with cold water. One pair of navy trackpants and red sweater later, she was tying her Nikes and pounding the pavement.

The early morning sun was shining brightly, her eyes squinting involuntarily. Squeezing them open and closed a couple times, she felt her residual tiredness fade as she quickened her pace to a sprint. The feeling of her feet moving faster than the rest of her body, sent small shivers of adrenalin rushing through her. As she rounded the last corner to her destination, her breath caught up to her feet, then as she eased off, both steadied to a slower pace. She saw her father leaning against the railing of the jetty, looking out to sea.

Without turning, he handed her a bottle of water as she came up beside him. She broke the seal, and drenched her throat with the icy, cool water.

"That's better." And it really was. It was remarkable how many demons she could exorcise with a simple, knee-jarring, quad-burning run.

Her father turned to her and nodded, lips pressed tightly together.

"So, why am I here, Dad?" She studied his face, looking for a clue to their Saturday morning rendez-vous.

"I have reason to believe you are going to be, or currently are, being targeted Sydney. By whom, and to what end, is still somewhat of an unknown."

Sydney snorted. "Yeah, well, when _hasn't_ that been the case lately?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She sighed and took another splash of water to her mouth. "Where did this intel come from? I can only assume through non-CIA sanctioned sources, considering our current location."

Jack pulled out a small white envelope from his jacket. "Who this came from is not the question at the moment, Sydney."

"I don't understand." A sick feeling spread over her as she remembered her earlier dream. "Dad, do _not _tell me Mom has anything to do with this."

He furrowed his brow at her, as if surprised by her supposition. "I did not receive this intel from your mother." He handed her the envelope and waited her reaction.

"The Gemini Project?" She asked.

"Mmhm." Her father nodded

"I have not heard of it. Should this mean something to me?"

"I'm not surprised. It's apparently the DSR's new pet."

"What's this? Two minds, one body..." She trailed off in thought. _Two minds...If anyone is planning a lobotomy for my future, I have two little friends they can meet, and they don't need a mind to work!_ Her toe arched up in her sneaker as she lazily nudged at the small firearm held at her ankle by a soft, leather holster. _And Vaughn, he has one too, more than one! Oh! That one too! Not so little... Ahhh. _She felt a faint blush come to her cheeks as she realised what she was thinking in her father's presence.

"The Department of Special Research has apparently taken it upon themse..."

"Wait. DSR? What do they have to with this, Dad ? I mean, past _arrests_ and problems aside, aren't we all on the same side ? They don't plan on taking off with my brain or some other bizarre, Rambaldi fueled mania, do they?" She sighed, feeling a little deflated at the mere thought of Rambaldi.

"We may have reason to suspect a rogue force operating within the DSR agenda, Sydney."

"To what end? What is this?" She pointed to the four words, running her finger over them as if to gain some unseen knowledge. "Two minds, one body?"

"Mind control."

"Like a sleeper agent, or ..."

He shook his head. "I'm working on more information, Sydney. Don't worry, I will get to the bottom of this. Just..." He paused a second, "stay vigilant. Perhaps it is not even directed at you, but someone close to you? How has Francie been lately? Will?"

A second sickly feeling spread over Sydney. She tried to sip a mouthful of water from the near empty bottle, but could barely swallow it. Will had almost recovered from her 'coming out' to him, and he was living a semi-normal life again. With Francie, even! She smiled inwardly. _Who would've thought those two crazy kids would ever get together? _Apart from her fellow CIA officers, she could not think of anyone else who could be targeted to affect her, in any way, shape or form.

"Can I give you a lift home, Sydney?"

She snapped out of her thought and nodded to her father, following him to his car parked a block over. Taking a final drink of water, she opened the car door; she threw the bottle over her shoulder, cocking her head behind her to watch it spin through the air, and land plum in the garbage bin to her rear. Her father flashed her a half smile and they set off, each sitting in silent contemplation for the ride.

Sydney stared out the window, watching the world fly past. Couples walking hand in hand, enjoying the morning sunshine. She noticed one rather boisterous dalmatian jumping, almost dancing with its' owner, who was trying in vain to regain some control. A small grin crossed her face. Her eyes closed a moment, briefly remembering watching _101 Dalmatians _as a child and begging her father to let her have one. He never did, of course; just a soft, stuffed replica.

Her eyes opened again as the car slowed to the lights. Another man walking, one hand in pocket, the other holding a cell phone close to his ear. His faded blue jeans hung low on his hips; fitted black t-shirt clinging to a slim, yet shapely torso; light, curly locks escaping from the back of a cap. The car stopped at the lights, and Sydney watched the young man approach the curb in her rear vision mirror. His black baseball cap was pulled down low, obscuring a proper view of his face. _I love LA,_ she thought as the lights turned green and the car took off once more. She saw the man becoming farther away again. _So many pretty boys to brighten a girl's day! _Only when they reached her apartment did her father speak again.

"Perhaps another bug sweep would be prudent, sweetheart." He mentioned as she undid her belt, and slipped out the car.

"Yeah. Thanks, Dad." Ducking her head through the window, she looked to her father. " I want to know the moment you hear more on this." He nodded in reply, and she headed inside.

When Sydney reached her door, she bent over to remove her key from her sneaker pocket. She was just about to stand, when the door was opened for her. Ten pink, painted toenails greeted her eyes.

"Woah! Francie, you scared the hell out of me!" Sydney almost knocked her room mate upside the chin with her head, as she stood up in surprise. Turning back a second, she sent a wave to her father, who was still waiting, the car engine purring softly. Sydney walked inside. Francie followed her, sending her own look back to the man.

**∞**

Sitting in his car, Jack Bristow waited for the inevitable call. As if his impatience was a tangible feeling in the air, his cell rang.

"Yes?"

"_Does she know_?"

"She knows..enough."

"_Really, Agent Bristow. You are not the only one with a stake in this._"

"How can you be sure Miss Calfo has been compromised? Contrary to our current circumstance, you are not my first, or even last choice in matters of trust."

"_I was fully briefed. The procedure was performed almost three months ago now. A small implant inserted into her left nasal cavity. Untraceable as you would expect using our current tech. Impossible to remove, of course._" He pondered that thought a moment. "_Well, perhaps not impossible. Death strikes me as an obstacle even the most pernicious of devices could not overcome._"

"How, comforting."

"_I took the liberty of removing some of the more problematic surveillance devices from your daughter's home during your meet this morning. I see no reason for those to fall into DSR hands. I actually objected at first to their installation, but chivalry is indeed dead it would seem._"

"Well, claims of protecting Sydney's virtue aside, I will expect those tonight. I assume you were not noticed by Miss. Calfo."

"_Actually, funny story, really. I had her fetch the bugs for me. Charming woman, a veritable credit to the project._ _My associates will be expecting the others though._"

Jack rolled his eyes and let slip a short grunt.

"_Yes, well. Extraction is set for tonight, 10:30 p.m._"

"Fine."

"_I hope so Jack. My employers..._" A momentary pause, before he concluded, "..._do not appreciate failure, nor do they anticipate complications._" and pressed 'END' on his phone.

**∞**

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The story Laura/Irina told Sydney in her dream is based loosely on an old Russian folk tale about an old crone, her weird cottage and her three horsemen in the forest.**  
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	2. Bang Bang Part 2

**Bang Bang Part 2**

_Three Months Earlier. DSR Building, Los Angeles._

Carson Evans sat at her large, cluttered desk. A small lamp, the glow of her computer monitor and the muted television cast a warm, blue glow throughout the sparsely furnished office. It was late, almost past ten thirty, and she was feeling the hour tonight, more so than usual. They were all long days, of course, but this seemed so much more.

On the television screen to her side, played footage recorded the previous year during the interrogation of Agent Sydney Bristow. The young woman had become the buzz around the office and stayed that way ever since the fabled Rambaldi page was unearthed, ironically by the young agent herself. The Department of Special Research had lobbied hard to deepen their investigations after their initial failure to bring light to the mystery. Only now were results of this increased pressure beginning to yield results. Heightened interest by certain members of the NSA saw them able to push boundaries in what they could and could not do. Apprehending Sydney Bristow turned from a 'what if' to a 'when will it happen'. Of course they all told themselves the familiar spin; 'protecting the many, by neutralizing the few', but it did not always sit well. In truth though, there were very few things that did lately.

Removing Sydney Bristow from active duty had been the beginning of their plan, the paperwork filed a little under a month ago. The pretence was shady, the answers vague, but somehow their NSA liaison, Robert Lindsay, had seen to its' approval. The deal was signed and sealed, merely waiting for delivery.

It had not come to fruition. Shortly after, whether in response to the chain of events they had set forth, or by a random stroke of coincidence, her colleagues had been systematically removed. Killed by assailants unknown.

The FBI's inquiries proved ineffectual. The only leads uncovered, left more questions than they answered. All victims were shot at close range. The crimes caught on surveillance. Of course, a hack into the security systems had _erased _the perpetrators. Bodies covered by thick, black stick figures which mirrored the actions of those they were 'impersonating'. Right down to a large yellow smiling face on the shooter.

Soon after, Lindsay began distancing himself from the dealings altogether. Speculation circulated amongst governmental departments. Though many considered the work on Rambaldi 'fringe science' bordering on the extreme, it was one of the most closely guarded. Security measures increased three-fold around certain facilities; guarding against an enemy they were not sure they would even recognize. Carson Evans was certain however, whether indirectly or not, it was all connected to Sydney Bristow.

She flicked through the photos lying beside her keyboard. She was not unaccustomed to the gruesome and grotesque in her line of work, but these hit too close to home. Carson wondered briefly if she was to be the next victim. Was it their greed for Rambaldi's work, or their collective fear of the so-called _Chosen One_ that had sealed all their fates? Something told her the crisp, white business card propped onto her keyboard would be either an answer or the beginning of more questions. It was embossed with a silver symbol and a time. She had fifteen minutes until she discovered if it was to be the former or the latter.

∞

Carson stepped out of the elevator and scanned the car park quickly. She saw the man standing beside her vehicle, waiting on her arrival.

_Arvin Sloane? How the hell did he even get in here? _ She pondered this absurd turn of events and checked her cell phone. _No signal_, she sighed as she realized the ridiculousness of believing a signal would be possible in here. She put on what she felt was her fiercest scowl and walked to meet the man.

"Good evening, Dr. Evans. I'm so glad you could join me." Arvin Sloane offered his hand to the woman.

"Presumptuous enough of you to seek me out for this farce of a meeting, but thinking I will shake your hand? The reports are correct, you are delusional." She shook her head in disgust.

Arvin allowed a small smile to spread over his face. Withdrawing his hand, he straightened his plum coloured tie, the pads of his finger and thumb running down either side of the silk fabric. He un-buttoned his coat and removed a manilla folder from an inside pocket.

Carson Evans' eyes moved to her right, then her left. The car park was deserted, only two cars remaining at this late hour. No shadows, no distant footfalls to be heard. The only movement being the silent presence of the security cameras which monitored the underground complex. The tension between her shoulder blades eased slightly, sensing no immediate danger. She was after all, in a government facility; 3 stories below ground level, one hundred metres by one hundred metres of nothing but concrete and open views.

"I am in good company then, Dr. Evans." Sloane offered the folder to the blonde woman standing before him.

"What is this supposed to be?" _Gemini Project? _Now she recognized the symbol from the business card she received_. What does this son of a bitch have planned? _Evans shook her head again. "I don't even have to look at this." She threw the folder back to the older man, papers floating to the dark, oil-stained bitumen. "Absolutely laughable. You believe I would be willing to make some kind of deal with you?"

She paused a moment, pondering Sloane again, before taking another look behind her. There was no-one to be seen, only four blank walls. She felt a whisper of a breeze caress her neck. Her hand reached around and scratched absent-mindedly at the nape. Smoothing down her ragged pony tail, she turned back to face him.

"Wait, what do you mean, _in good company_?" Her sudden compulsion to turn again was met with the same blank wall. There was no-one there. Carson Evans felt a tinge of confusion sweep her as a cold sweat formed under the collar of her white cotton dress shirt. She thumbed at her neck to ease the choking sensation that was threatening to overcome her nerve. Looking to the ground, she noticed the papers that had fallen from the folder. They were all as blank as the walls.

"Of course, this was just a courtesy call, after all" A slight chuckle fell from Sloane's surprisingly warm face. "Laughable is your own belief I would be here to make a deal with you. Now, from where I am standing, that seems rather.." A short pause as Sloane stepped to within a hair of the Doctor, now whispering to her ear "..delusional to me. Making deals with the dead? " He scoffed.

"I will not be intimidated by the likes of you. This complex has surveillance, any attempt made on me would be futile." Her voice faltered a little. "I am not sure what you could even possibly hope to achieve by taking out myself, and my team for that matter, which I am sure you are behind, but rest assured, it will not be allowed to continue."

Evans made a limp attempt at raising her finger accusingly to Sloane's chest. "However many _friends_ you think you have protecting you, the pockets you have lined with your deception and trickery, it will not be enough. The United States government is not in the business of consorting with terrorists." She took a sharp, deep breath, her body betraying the cool façade she was trying desperately to convey.

Sloane rolled his eyes and nodded, pulling something else from his pocket. A small, rectangular piece of plastic attached to a shiny metallic clip. "Now really, good doctor, is that any way to speak to a colleague?" He flashed his credentials to the shocked face of the woman opposing him. "Well, perhaps more of a silent partner, you could say." He added as an afterthought.

Evans stepped backward toward her car, eyes firmly trained on Arvin Sloane. Shaking hands fumbled in pockets, searching for keys. She pressed the central-locking button so hard her thumbnail began turning white.

"Over my dead body will we be colleagues, Mr. Sloane." She turned swiftly and was about to set herself down into her car seat when her head turned to an approaching man.

"Now, that's the spirit! It can also be arranged!" A booming voice echoed across the car park.

She had not heard the elevator door ding; nor had she noticed the tall, almost giant man striding toward her; not until it was too late. Carson's eyes, her complete attention and contempt had been aimed squarely at one man only.

"You would not believe how long I have been waiting for someone to say that!" The man was a vision in white. Pristine, blinding white. The suit was cut slim down his gangly legs, shoulders jutting out at extreme right angles. His slicked-back hair was jet black, shining, even under the dull lighting of the car park. Black, horn-rimmed glasses sat high on his full nose, obscuring his brown, bulging eyes.

The maniacal glee on his face spoke volumes, as he revealed a similar plastic card as Sloane had done just moments earlier.

"Cody Hennessey, FBI!" He shoved the card into her face, his fist almost punching her in the nose in his eagerness, and raised one brow, his lip turned up into a sneer. He noticed the look Sloane sent his way and backed away a short distance. The sneer turned into a huge, toothy grin and he nodded to the older man. "Not really." He whispered to the un-amused woman, as he nudged her arm with his elbow.

"You know, the order to terminate, your..." Sloane cleared his throat a little, "...employment was not directly my choice. I was more than happy for you and your colleagues to participate in our work on Gemini; in fact, the convenience would of offset any misgivings my partners had, but, apparently you made the wrong people _uncomfortable_, Dr. Evans."

"Ahh, friends in high places...security clearance...orders to kill..." Hennessey's hand appeared from behind his back in the blink of an eye. One unseemly long arm set stiffly forward, he fired 3 bullets to the chest of Carson Evans without a drop of blood staining his suit. "...That's a real bitch, for ya, doc." Sliding the safety back on, he spun the weapon on his trigger finger and slid it delicately into the back of his trousers again.

Hennessey placed a finger to his ear and nodded. "We have two minutes until Esther's blackout is released, Mr. Sloane."

"Very good. Thank-you, Mr. Hennessey. Oh, and please, be sure to send your wife my compliments; her work is really quite wonderful."

As soon as the car was clear of the complex, Sloane made the call he had been waiting the past three months for. "Jonathon?"

"_I trust all went well, Arvin?_" Jonathon Edwards' face stretched into a slow smile.

"We are in business. Please pass on my regards to Mr. Lindsay."

∞

_One Week Later. _

Lauren Reed could of thought of a thousand things she would rather be doing on this chilly Friday night in down town Los Angeles. Stripping in her boss's car and abduction were not on her list. At least the streets were relatively quiet. She would hate anyone, even complete strangers, to think this was for his benefit.

She kicked her feet out of her black sling backs and slid her pinstripe pencil skirt down her legs. With as much grace as was possible manoeuvring in the back seat, she stepped her toes into the legs of her charcoal skinny leg jeans. Raising her hips, she pulled them up, almost squeezing her innards as she buttoned the vice like fastening. Eyes forward, she slowly unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off. Lauren smiled at the man ogling her rather obviously via the rear vision mirror. Reaching around to remove her bra, her blood-red lacquered talons discovered something which proved infinitely more satisfying.

Taking the pair of mauve, stilettoed leather boots in her hands, she stepped out of the car and opened the driver's side door. The look in the man's eye almost made her laugh out loud. _What I wouldn't give for a good looking asshole for a change_.

"Mr. Lindsay, you will either avert your eyes or I will remove them." Lauren glanced to the spiked heel, then to her employer. His stature instantly floundered.

Pulling on both boots, she placed one leather clad foot on the man's thigh, inches from his groin. She dug the heel in deep, as she zipped it closed.

"Are we in agreement, Sir?" She ground it in just a little further for good measure. _If only the smug bastard could take a look at himself now. _She smiled at him again.

He nodded and she repeated the action for her other foot.

"Marvellous."

Stepping back, Lauren resumed her activities. A black cashmere turtleneck was slipped over her head and a tranquilliser gun tucked discreetly underneath. She fixed her dark, glossy locks into a tight chignon. One deep breath and she was ready.

She heard her superior's voice as she turned out of the alleyway, where their car was hidden from view.

"Miss Reed. Are you done now?" He sounded rather agitated, she thought. "I would like to get this under way sometime tonight."

It was shortly followed by a rather loud, "Bitch!" which she wasn't entirely sure she heard or imagined, but it delighted the young woman all the same.

With a shrug of the shoulders and a lock pick to the door, she entered Francie Calfo's life. _In more ways than one_, mused Lauren.Surveillance on Calfo had revealed two passions; her restaurant and her friends. She closed the front door to the establishment and sought out her target.

"Will? Is that you?" Called a voice from the kitchen.

Lauren entered the room with a smile. "Would you believe me if I told you I was lost?"

"I'm sorry, we're closed." Francie faltered a moment. "Wait. Do I know you? Your face seems, familiar?" She was questioning herself more than the other woman.

"No, but you will soon."

Lauren raised her weapon and shot Francie; the dart piercing her neck and sending her to the floor almost immediately. She lifted the larger woman, supporting her weight with her shoulder and one guiding arm around the waist. They exited through the front door and headed back to the car.

If Lauren had not been a girl with ambiguous motives and dubious acquaintances, she would have been wholly dismayed by the people passing them in the street. Of the few couples and one group of adolescent males they encountered, only one elderly chap questioned the unconscious woman being dragged along.

"Can't take her liquor, the poor dear." Lauren had smiled and patted Francie on the head.

Lauren rapped on the car window and motioned Lindsay for help. Depositing her in the back seat, they headed to their second destination for the night.

∞

It was well after 4 a.m. when the car pulled up to the curb. Will looked out of the window and saw Francie stumbling up the path. He opened the front door, wearing his best _where the hell have you been_ look. He heard her call out "bye",and then the car was gone.

"Hey, baby!" She grabbed him around the neck and led him inside.

"Francie! Where the hell have you been? I have been calling the restaurant, your cell; your mother for God's sakes!" He looked down at the doe-eyed plead of innocence she gave him.

Holding her tighter, he combed his fingers through her hair. "Yeah, so, that look is not gonna wash this time, Francie. What's goin' on?"

"I met up with some friends after closing up shop tonight." She shrugged. (She was abducted and knocked out by a vixen wearing Chanel No.5.)

"Umm, hi." He gave her a mock wave and pointed to himself. "Boyfriend here! We had made plans, I came to pick you up at 11:30, but you weren't there."

"We went to this club. I possibly had a few too many drinks." She giggled and sat down on the arm of the sofa. (She was carried into a white room and strapped down on a reclining metallic chair. A blindingly bright light was shining inches from her face.)

Will took her purse and looked for her phone; 8 missed calls. He raised his brow at her.

"It was noisy!" (A sound, loud. Like a dentist's drill duelling with a leaf blower screamed through her ears.)

"And I thought I was supposed to be the irresponsible one. Shit Francie, I called the cops, your mom, she is like, pissed, you better..." Her mouth on his ended his tirade momentarily.

He pulled her away, hands gripping her arms, almost shaking her. Her eyes seemed to shudder a moment, as a rush of blood flowed from her nose.

"Oh, ew." Her hand touched her face and she quickly stood up to find a tissue from the bathroom. "Sorry, Will." She dabbed at her nose, looking in the cabinet mirror. (A face. A man; small, dark eyes; short, greying hair. A long silver tube. Intense pressure on her forehead. )

"Just, pinch the bridge of your nose, Francie. Would you like some water? Tylenol?"

"It's OK, I feel fine." She smiled. (_It is OK, Miss Calfo_. He touched her shoulder. _You will be fine_.)

"Are you sure?" He reached out for her and pulled her body to his.

"I am _sure_ that I am sure." (A woman. Dark hair, smoky eyes. Too much perfume.)

Will seemed unconvinced.

"Look. I started this...course. Creative writing!" Her face was wearing the same smile as if frozen. "I suppose I was too embarrassed to tell you." (_Catherine will be your contact_. An alias. _She is a friend_. The enemy. _You like to write_. The cover. _About Sydney Bristow_. The plan.)

"Uh, pardon?" His eyes widened in disbelief, he shook his head. "Two days ago you were complaining you never had time anymore..."

"I guess..." She placed her hands on his chest, "I decided..." rubbing up to his shoulders, "to make time..." fingers linking around his neck, "for things..." she pulled his mouth to within a whisper of her own, "I really want." This time, she did not let him pull away.

∞


	3. Bang Bang Part 3

**Bang Bang Part 3**

Present Day. Los Angeles

Julian Sark leaned one hand against the cool ceramic of the sink. His other palm cupped his chin and four fingers rubbed against his cheek. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. A short sigh escaped his parched lips. Generally speaking, he liked what he saw, but this morning, he was not so sure. Blue eyes stained bloodshot were dry, indicative of his lack of sleep. A brilliant purple circle was forming around his left eye and three small cuts criss-crossed his brow bone.

He tipped his head upside down under the high-arched spout of the tap and turned the cold water on. It rushed over the back of his neck toward his forehead, drenching his sweat stiffened hair. He let it run for a couple minutes, then stood up again. His face was flushed from cold and the blood rush to his head from his previously upended state. Icy cold drops streamed down his neck; separating at his collar-bone to mark their own journeys along the knob of his shoulder joint; some veering off toward his bare chest, then further to the defined ripple of abdominals. He felt his skin prickle at the sensation.

For him, it was a tried and true method of waking up when his body sought only respite. Irina had shown him in his younger days, how to turn bodily reactions on and off like the flick of a switch. Sensory deprivation, followed by intense stimulation; drug cocktails freely administered then withheld; expectations heightened only to falter briefly, then reinforced with cruel ferocity. Sark regularly employed her methods during his _information _sessions with _difficult _clients. As a matter of fact, he found the techniques applicable to many of his life's activities. Her instruction however, had not been aimed at revitalisation, as this morning's exercise was.

Sark removed a fluffy, white towel from the heated rack at his side and pressed his face gently. Moving back to his bedroom, his bare feet left a trail of watermarks. He pulled on a pair of loose grey track pants and continued his morning ritual.

He swung his arms a few times forward and backward. He then stretched, clasping hands in front, rounding out his back. His skin still glistened slightly from drips occasionally running from his hair. Reaching to the door frame of his room, he gripped widely, with barely more than his finger tips; and pulled himself up until his chin skimmed the frame. Holding there a moment, lighting the fire between his shoulder blades then slowly releasing down again. With each successive pull up, his lats burned, triceps screamed for mercy, sweat trailed the line of his spine. Pressure built into his fingertips turning them white. When he felt as though he would fall back to the ground, he lifted once more; and then once more again. His face grimaced in exertion, but, Mr. Sark enjoyed pain.

Finally dropping to the floor, he lay prone, toes lifting his lower body, arms raising his upper. Fingers splayed, sinking ever so slightly into the thick pile of the carpet; he closed his eyes. Push-ups allowed him time to think. No real need to concentrate on form, his was always perfect; abdominals gripping his torso, holding him up; back muscles sculpting their own crevices and peaks as they contracted and released. His mind bypassed the pain and focused on the events of the previous day.

_17 hours earlier. Gibraltar. _

_'Well, isn't this bloody lovely', Sark thought, looking through the window of the cable car now at the midpoint of its journey. Sure, he had a postcard perfect view of the Rock of Gibraltar, the city and across the bay; but, he was here on business, and this was not how he liked business to be conducted. _

"_It seems we're in a spot of bother, Mr Sark." The other passenger in the car; his contact for a splinter group of the Ulster Defence Association looking to procure arms from Derevko, one Mr. Ronaldo O'Connor. The bizarre name was nothing on the ill-chosen ensemble in which the Irishman was outfitted. Check shorts, hawaiian shirt, sweating profusely, 300 pounds on a good day. Sark could barely meet his gaze, let alone believe this man to be a threat to anyone bar the young girl manning the local chip shop. _

_Sark had also noted the suspicious lack of tourists; but surprising abundance of buff, short haired young men doing their best to fit the bill instead, milling around both drop off points. It could have been a 'Hot Cops' get together if he wasn't a wanted terrorist and the man opposite him wasn't looking to become one. There was always the possibility though, this could all be an elaborate ruse concocted by his employer to keep him on his toes. _

_He assessed his situation. The drop was nearing 300 metres now. __Whether this was a set-up or not, he was not about to shoulder the hulking brute beside him. _

"_It has been a pleasure, Mr. O'Connor, but I am afraid, I must bid you, adieu." Tipping his glasses from head to nose, he slipped on a pair of black leather gloves before removing his suit jacket. He climbed out of the window and steadied his balance on the roof. Sark looked down and grinned at the dive his stomach took at the view. _

_He wound one sleeve end on his left hand; the twisted body of the jacket hanging over the cable wire; the other sleeve wrapped and gripped tightly by his right hand. With one deep breath and leap over the edge, he was sliding down his makeshift flying-fox. _

_The wind was whipping his hair. A bullet, a mere sliver from grazing his cheek. 'Oh.' He swung his body like a pendulum, dodging the incoming bullets, out of luck, more than any precise movement on his behalf. He was out of control and nearing the end of the line. Sark felt the vibration of the cable burning through his jacket and looked up wide-eyed to the frayed fabric and then down to his almost certain fate. Using every ounce of momentum he could muster, he flung his legs backward. With less than five metres to go it finally threaded to nothing and he leaped forward._

_The waiting security forces were dumbfounded. They had stopped firing a brief moment, as if not expecting their target to be capable of the mid-air escape. Sark ploughed into them; Gucci loafers bracing his fall on the chest of one of the men. They fell with a thud to the dusty ground. Hands on either side of winded man, he head-butted him for good measure and pushed himself up. _

_Sark made the most of the opportunity his surprising entrance had granted him. Before they knew what hit them, a roundhouse kick had brought two to the dirt. Duel Glocks removed mid-kick, he fired, bringing down 3 more in the ensuing cross fire. Body circling, arms outstretched, assessing all angles. His trigger fingers hungry for action. A volley of suppressing fire sent the remaining men ducking for cover. _

_Holstering his weapons, he sprinted into the trees, his feet carrying him too fast down a steep embankment, and coming out at the road in a somersault. His knees scraping gravel and drawing blood, tearing through the linen of his suit trousers. Hardly the entrance, or exit he generally liked to make. He looked more troublesome school boy than hard-assed criminal. With all the decorum he could muster, he stood and felt to adjust his sunglasses and realized with some dismay, they were lost to the wilds. 'Bloody hell.' Sark straightened his shirt, dusted his trousers and called for extraction. _

Sark allowed his arms to flop. He lay there, cheek against the carpet for a moment, recovering his breath. The Gibraltar trip had been a large, albeit exhilarating waste of time. Whether it had been Irina who tipped off the locals, who in turn notified Scotland Yard was anyone's guess. He thought the likelihood was high. He rolled over and began a set of crunches.

_1474 kilometres later. Omnifam Building. Geneva._

_Several hours later, Sark arrived at the offices of Arvin Sloane. He did not want to be there. He wanted to be as far away as humanly possible from the man, but their tenuous partnership forced at least a modicum of involvement on his behalf. The irony of Arvin Sloane running a worldwide charitable organization sanctioned by the United States Government was not lost on him. If he hadn't played a rather significant role in the whole sordid affair, he would of laughed at the fact. Friends close, enemies closer, and all that bollocks._

_Sark knew something was wrong the moment he walked into the foyer. Sloane's personal assistant, Jemima, had yet to slap, flirt or pester him. He thought perhaps today was the silent treatment for his lack of phone call after his last night in Geneva. _

_He heard a faint whimper and poked his head over the front desk. Sark raised his brow at the line of the young woman's skirt creeping up her thigh as she noticed the familiar face and tried as elegantly as possible to lift herself up again. He offered her his hand._

"_Uh, thank-you, Mr. Harris." She stood up and her eyes flicked to the door of Sloane's office, then darted back to Sark again._

"_I think we may have a problem, but, Mr. Sloane has told me in the past, no matter what I hear, I am not to call the authorities, but..."_

_Sark rolled his eyes. _

"_Do you have a feed of his room?" He was standing behind her now, leaning over her shoulder to check the monitors, pondering the outcome a request for tea would garner him._

"_No, but security could perhaps patch it up here. One moment please, Robert."_

_After viewing the feed, the only option he entertained was walking, hands in pockets, straight out the doors again. He did not care that McKenas Cole was currently holding Sloane in a headlock, or that he was about to inject him with something that was probably not Botox. In fact, he wished it was a gun in Cole's hand instead, a really big one. He was not concerned about the four heavily armed men who accompanied Cole either. He was rather happy actually, because Julian Sark was nobody's hero. 'One less job for me in the end', he realized with some relish._

_Closer study however revealed something that caught his eye. Zooming in closer, he was able to read Sloane's lips._

"_I believe we could work to each other's benefit, Cole. I hope you are intelligent enough to recognize when opportunity outweighs petty revenge."_

"_That all depends, Arvie. Because you know, I see great opportunity in my current plans. And of course, let me remind you, I am the one holding the fucking guns."_

_It was fairly irrelevant to Sark what else Sloane had to say to the man. He knew Sloane would either end up dead by Cole's hand, or Sloane would hand over his prize. The prize they had allowed him to win. 'All fairly dull and predictable'. _

_Sark had been lost in his thoughts when he heard the sounds of gunfire. Apparently, Jemima had indeed called the authorities and left when she caught sight of the weaponry wielded in her boss's office. He sighed. Any moment now, Cole's troops would be setting off their own special brand of welcome to the awaiting constabulary. He was either going to be stuck in the middle catching buck shots, pinch hitting for the fuzz or taking one for Team Sloane. He found the idea of any entirely distasteful._

_As if taking their cue from his thoughts, Cole rushed the foyer with entourage in tow. Hammering AK's punctured the air. A slight pause as the opposition retreated briefly. Sark took that as his moment. He rose from behind the desk, adding his own gunfire to the hail of bullets, and ran backwards to Sloane's office. _

"_Well, this is surprising. Coming to my rescue, Julian?" Sloane was still seated behind his desk._

"_Hardly." Sark stood on Sloane's desk, reaching for the ventilation shaft overhead. With a solid push, it swung open, and he pulled himself up and into the chute, closing the hatch behind him. _

_He hadn't noticed the trail of blood he had left in his wake, until he was safely, relatively speaking, back in his car. It did not seem too serious, he barely felt minor shrapnel wounds anymore. Unless a limb or vital organ was in imminent danger of failure, it was merely an inconvenience. _

_Sirens blared in the distance, following Cole's escape vehicle. He was watching the events unfold from some distance when his cell buzzed. Reaching into his jacket, he felt the familiar stick of his blood on the metallic cover of the phone._

"_Sark."_

"_Nothing I do, Mr. Sark is ever without thought or to 'our' disadvantage. You would do well to remember that." The intonation of the word 'our' from Sloane's mouth made Sark snort in derision. _

"_As would you, Arvin."_

"_Oh, and Julian. In your haste to leave, you missed the whole reason for our meeting." He spoke as if the morning's events were nothing but a minor distraction to the actual business at hand. "The schedule on Bristow has been moved forward."_

"_When?"_

"_Sunday evening, Los Angeles time. If you are unable to co-ordinate the exchange, I can arrange my own men to be there."_

"_That will not be necessary."_

"_Edwards will be waiting on the signal from Miss Calfo until he sends someone in. Has Jack been made aware?" _

"_Irina will take care of Jack Bristow, that is not a concern." He hoped it would not become one in any case._

"_You know Sydney is like a daughter to me, Julian. I trust you will hold that fact in regard."_

"_Yes." He snapped the phone closed, shaking his head. He did not need Sloane's sick little speech again. _

_Sark drove to the airstrip and within minutes of boarding the jet he had long ago dubbed 'Air Derevko', was in transit once more. He headed to the bathroom to check for injuries. Standing before the mirror clad only in black boxer shorts, he turned, checking all angles. Several contusions from his fun in the great outdoors that morning in Gibraltar, a few buck shots, just grazes really on his shoulder and side. Nothing of any great concern, but still in need of some attention. _

_He was twisted, reaching his right arm around his neck and over his shoulder to pull a piece of shrapnel from his upper back as his cell rang. He answered, balancing it between his shoulder and ear as he continued._

"_Sark."_

"_Julian. I have spoken with Alexei. DSR is set to move tomorrow night. Are you prepared?"_

"_Yes. I met with Sloane this afternoon. I believe he may have now have some manner of affiliation with McKenas Cole, but," A metallic 'ching' as he dropped a piece of buckshot into the bathroom sink. "that is something I will have to look into when I return. Do not be surprised if he has access to Gemini though."_

"_It was a given really and can be worked to our favour. Cole is easily manipulated. He will not be a problem." She paused a moment. "Now, Julian, you will have to meet with Jack when you arrive in Los Angeles. I have told him to expect a contact, but, he doesn't know it will be you." He didn't have to see her to know she was smiling at this. _

_He twisted open a bottle of anti-septic with his teeth and left hand and soaked a cotton swab. "Well, won't that be a pleasant meeting." He gingerly applied the liquid, his jaw flexing slightly at the sting._

"_Bring her back safely please, Julian. You know I am relying on you."_

"_Goodnight, Irina." _

_Sark sighed and packed the small medical kit away. He often pondered on when his life had become so fatefully entwined with Sydney Bristow. The fact he did not know whether it was a good thing or bad was, in his opinion, one of his more disturbing thoughts. But, he was Julian Sark, loyal hell hound of Irina Derevko, and that was that. Betraying Irina would never enter his thought process, but pissing off her daughter, that was an entirely different affair. Their brief, past dalliance and orders from above aside, he had no interest in the woman whatsoever. No. He did not._

_There was a short rap on the bathroom door. "Mr. Sark? We are heading into some slight turbulence. You will need to come take a seat please, Sir."_

"_Yes, of course. Thank-you, I will be right out." _

_He dressed again and headed to his seat. Resting back into the sumptuous leather arm chair, he belted up and closed his eyes. As luck would have it, the moment he felt himself slip into slumber, the plane fell into a sharp and sudden dip. It rose again, and as Sark looked out of the window, he saw the pounding rain rebounding off the wing. The cabin in all its luxuriousness still shook, his glass of wine spilling to the floor, deep red staining the creamy carpet. _

_Sark took a long breath, his stomach filling out, then exhaled gently again. No matter the chaos surrounding him, when he chose to block something out, he simply chose to do so. It was as simple as that for him. _

_10 hours later. Los Angeles._

_Sark had not slept. He only realised this by the time the jet was making its descent. Blinking his eyes, he checked his watch; 3:00am local time. His life at times, felt like some weird kind of waking dream. It was a feeling he would always file away to the back of his mind, for contemplation another day. He left the cabin._

_In typical Irina fashion, she had neglected to inform Sark of the fact Jack Bristow would be meeting him as he stepped off the jet. Right there, on the tarmac. _

"_You!" Was all the older man let out._

_Sark sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He looked back up to find Jack Bristow's fist barrelling into his face. In the grip of a tight head lock, Sark was unceremoniously dragged down the stairs._

"_Start talking, Sark. What the hell is going on here? While I may have agreed to meet, do not think for a second I won't turn you into CIA custody if I don't like what I hear."_

"_Well now, Jack. What would the old ball and chain have to say about that? She 'is' like a mother to me after all." _

_Another blow connected and Sark fell back slightly. 'Like I didn't know that one was coming!' He could feel his eye swelling shut already, but couldn't help the glee he felt at grinding on Jack's nerves. Somehow, he didn't think Sloane was treated to a Bristow blow during his 'Sydney is like the daughter I never had' spiels. Although, with Jack, one could never be sure._

"_I have information for you." He pulled away and rifled through his briefcase, removing a small white envelope. "You may take it or leave it, but I assure you Agent Bristow, Sydney's life will depend on it."_

_Jack opened it and read the document enclosed. "Department of Special Research? You are kidding, right?"_

"_I do not 'kid', Jack." Sark wondered why the man had to even be involved. "Feel free to inform your daughter with whatever you feel necessary to facilitate her co-operation."_

_He stepped closer to the man, standing his ground. "I'm sure you can grasp the consequences of going to your superiors with this. Her removal has been fully sanctioned by the NSA, you will have no legal recourse. Robert Lindsay himself was chief counsel to the oversight committee who approved the action."_

_Jack furrowed his brow. His jaw clenched. He grunted a confirmation and was about to leave._

"_There is one other thing. Miss Calfo, Sydney's house mate.." Sark handed him another piece of paper. "has been under the employ of the DSR for quite some time now. So to speak anyway."_

"_In what capacity?"_

"_Information gathering. Mostly just monitoring surveillance devices."_

"_What purpose does surveillance of Sydney serve? She is a CIA agent, they are capable of gathering any Rambaldi related data through proper channels." _

"_Apparently, if you can believe this, they had been waiting for a 'sign'." Sark rolled his eyes. " DSR director Edwards has become impatient though."_

_Sark shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck, "He is a dangerous man, Agent Bristow. His fear of Rambaldi is...somewhat, irrational. His ability to sway the opinion of otherwise rational thinking men though, men with power, it's quite remarkable, really. He wants her taken out as soon as possible." _

"_Hm. Jonathon Edwards? He assumed control after Carson and her team were terminated."_

"_Yes."_

_Jack thought a moment. "I think it fairly obvious Sydney will not believe Miss Calfo capable of betraying her."_

"_Yes, well. The subject of Calfo is...complicated."_

"_I'm curious to your hand in all of this, Mr Sark." _

"_What can I say, merely a concerned citizen." He stood there, hands in pockets, shrugging shoulders. _

_Jack shook his head and stifled the urge to swipe the smirk off the boy's face. He did not like the fact he was as hard to read as Irina. They were always hiding something. Nothing from their mouths could be taken at face value, literally. Jack had a theory Julian Sark wore the same false smile for most tasks required of him. Everything from assassinating heads of state to shooting craps in Vegas. He was blank. The same could, and had, been said of himself, though._

"_And Francie?"_

"_It is likely Miss Calfo will be used as the means to incapacitate your daughter, and anyone else in the house at the time. Mr. Tippin; perhaps Agent Vaughn, if we are lucky."_

_Jack raised his brow. The corner of his lip almost twitching upward, but shook his head._

"_How the hell are you and Irina involved in all of this, Sark?"_

"_I'm afraid Jack, that is need to know. I will be in contact. Informing Sydney should be your highest priority. We will have to go in tonight." Sark left the man, analysing his next move, still standing on the tarmac._

Only when his alarm buzzed was Sark stunned out of his thought. It was 6:00 a.m. He was sitting cross-legged, in the middle of his room, the space he had been working out, holding his cell phone in his hand. He looked at the display, but did not recognize the number. He pressed the dial key and waited for an answer. Upon hearing the response, he hung up.

∞


	4. Bang Bang Part 4

**Bang Bang. Part 4.**

Jack Bristow was not a happy man. Pre-dawn meetings with Mr.Sark were certainly not his favoured wake-up call. Having dropped Sydney home again after their meet, he drove a few blocks, then parked, taking a moment to ponder his next move. Generally speaking, he could say he knew what his daughter's actions would be before she knew herself, but this morning, for the first time in a long time, he did not even quite know his own, let alone hers. The fact of the matter though, according to Sark's call, they had ten hours, or thereabouts, to decide.

Leaning back in the front seat of his sedan, he opened his laptop, checked his email and flung the lid down again; his messages to her unanswered. Flicking through the pile of papers given to him by Sark, he noted the one name that kept popping up, Jonathon Edwards. Not personally familiar with the man, he had taken the time to check on his credentials soon after he took control of the DSR, several months ago.

Edwards had a seemingly blinding run to the top of the intel ladder. A fairly unremarkable ten years followed by a hot streak that had ended with him landing the top post at the Department of Special Research. An educated man, he spent most of those years holed up in an office in the same building he now presided over. His reputed temper always made an appearance after one too many scotches or more likely, one too many Rambaldi related losses. Little else was known of the man. He kept very much to himself, and if Sark was to be believed, wanted to keep one Milo Rambaldi to himself also.

While certain the man was qualified for the job, Jack still wondered just what he did, or who he now owed, to come to such a position. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel, gaze fixed on the city skyline. His train of thought was only disturbed some time later by a familiar meow, signalling her online IM presence.

Mozart182: You sent the boy..

Handel4Me: He is capable of seeing to our interests

Mozart182: It is not his skills I question..

Handel4Me: He can be trusted on this issue

He resisted the overwhelming urge to send her a smiley, but he doubted he could find one to give proper kudos to that particular piece of absurdity. The gall of the woman to suggest he should trust Sark at her word.

Mozart182: Amusing. Next you'll tell me I can trust you too

Handel4Me: Jack...

Mozart182: I need more...

Handel4Me: And I need the chance to protect my child.

∞

Taking a seat on the stool, Sydney leaned her head against the kitchen counter. She sighed. Once more, her eyes spied 10 perfect pink toes pattering toward her.

"Now you look like a woman in need of coffee."

Sydney lifted her head and smiled at her friend. "That would be great."

Racking her brain the whole drive home, she had not been able to come up with one incriminating moment indicating Francie to be anything other than the girl she had always known. Even with the benefit of hindsight, nothing struck her as out of the ordinary. But perhaps with the absurdity of her own life, there were signs she had missed.

Francie opened a small brown bag and took a deep breath. "Mmm, new blend from Jake down at the markets." She spooned the dark granules into the filter and flicked the switch on the perculator. Leaning an elbow on the counter, her focus moved to Sydney.

"So...spill, girl."

Sydney cocked her head and smiled. "Hmm?"

"Saturday morning breakfast with your Dad? Something wrong?"

"Oh, yeah. I mean, no, nothing is wrong." She shook her head and stood up, removing two coffee cups from the cupboard. "I went for a run, and we kinda passed on the way." Opening the fridge, she grabbed the milk and turned around to find Francie standing behind her, staring her quite intently in the eye.

"Good!" She poked one manicured finger to Sydney's chest. "I don't want to hear about any _emergency_ calls from the bank today either. If they can't do without you for one Saturday afternoon, then screw 'em!" She flung her arm into the air, in mock disgust.

With crumpled brows, Sydney looked at her. And then, with a sudden realisation it hit her. "Ohhhh! The pink toes!"

"Sydney Anne Bristow! Do not tell me you forgot about our barbeque?"

Will walked into the kitchen, and hopped onto the counter. Grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl next to him, he took a big bite. Neither woman noticed him enter the room.

"Never! I never forget!" Her cheeks dimpled in a small grin as she tried to placate her friend.

"Like an elephant?" Will choked out between bites.

They both turned to look at him and shook their heads in unison. "What?"

"You know, elephants? They never forget!"

Sydney sighed. "Don't you have a home to go to, Will?"

He grinned at her, and kept chewing.

"You know," Francie hushed her voice and leaned in closer to her friend, "Will told me he heard strange noises coming from your room last night." She smiled as Sydney's eyes widened. "I was half expecting your guy from the bank to walk out of the shower this morning!" She ducked and stepped back as a swing from Sydney missed her upper arm and set about filling their cups.

"Francie!" Sydney couldn't keep the giggles from erupting. _See! If Dad could see Francie, right now, at this moment, he would know she is the same as she has ever been._

Sydney watched her. Nothing had changed. Everything was as it had always been. She was certain of it. Francie poured a cup of coffee and handed it to Will in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. The only thing that came to mind watching her was 'happiness' _She looks like a young woman enjoying a normal Saturday morning with her friends_. She certainly isn't hiding anything. _I would know...I would know..._The silent mantra repeated in her head, whether it was a fact she already believed, or was trying to convince herself of, she was not yet sure.

"So, is he coming by later on?" Sydney looked at her. "The _guy_!"

"Oh, I would say the likelihood of that is, oh, I don't know...zero." _No, not too likely at all_.

Francie frowned at her friend, but let the subject rest.

"Ok. I'm going for a shower! If Catherine comes, can one of you give her my folder, it's on the coffee table!"

"Hey woman! Get back here and make me a sandwich!"

"Bite me, Tippin!" Francie teased.

"Anywhere interesting?" He grinned but was rewarded only with a pile of wet towels and underwear.

"I'm your girlfriend Will, not your house maid."

With that, she vanished back into the bathroom.

"Oh!" A shout barely audible over the sound of the shower. "No peaking!" A pause. "At my writing !"

Sydney poked her head around the corner to the living room. There on the table lay a large yellow envelope, beckoning her, taunting her to open it and silence her mind.

The flash of recollection hit her quite suddenly. A fleeting memory of a few months back when she had found a similar folder. As she picked it up, Francie had walked into the room and almost flew at her to relieve her of the folder, spilling its' contents to the floor.

"_Sydney! What are you doing?" Francie had yelled breathlessly. "This is for my writing class!" Scrambling on the floor she gathered and clutched the fist of papers to her chest. "I swear, I would kill you if you read this!"_

She felt as if she was speed reading, memories of the past months entering and exiting her mind as fast as she could process them. Had she mistaken duplicity for embarrassment?

"So, Syd." Sydney turned back to the kitchen and shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, or more specifically, her doubts. Taking her seat again at the counter she flicked through the paper and sipped her coffee.

"No, Will. I am not going to make you some breakfast."

He laughed. "Good idea, but actually, I was wondering something else."

"What's up?" Her eyes didn't leave the gossip column.

"Is there like, any reason in particular you were calling out the name of a known terrorist and, might I add, depraved psychotic jackass in your sleep?"

Choking on her mouthful of coffee, Sydney flicked over the corner of the newspaper. She could feel the immediate rosy heat rising in her cheeks under the intensity of Will's questioning glare.

"What?!"

∞

Francie closed the bathroom door behind her. Disrobing, she turned on the taps, steam filling the small room. Hearing the voices laughing and chatting from the kitchen, she smiled briefly. There had not been a time she could remember when she felt happier. Disappointment over her broken engagement seemed like a mere stop over on the road to the rest of her life. She stepped into the shower and lathered her hair with a strawberry scented shampoo.

Water still running she stepped out of the shower then, suds running down her back. Moving over the sink she steadily unscrewed the "C" and "H" caps on the taps. A small metallic disc slipped out from under the cold cap. Pressing her finger to it, it made a brief buzzing sound, then stalled. The hot water cap was removed in a similar fashion, but instead of a buzz, she pressed it to emit a series of short blips. She replaced the caps and stood back, looking in the mirror. It was fogged over, only her sillhouette visible, enveloped in a swathe of hazy steam.

"_What?!"_ Sydney's voice seemed like a distant echo, as if they were on opposite sides of a ravine.

She smiled at the sound of her friend thinking again on the lucky hand fate had drawn her lately. Stepping back into the shower, she wet her hair and squeezed some strawberry scented shampoo into the palm of her hand. Inhaling, she was ever so briefly filled with an overwhelming sense of dé-jà vu.

∞

Knocking on the door of Robert Lindsay's office, Lauren grimaced. The sooner she was out of this assignment, the better. She was hoping the memo she was now about to hand her superiorwould hasten that.

"Miss Reed, you remember Jon Edwards?" He stood as she entered the room, and smiled at her. He was smug, and very self-assured as Lindsay, but thought Lauren, _perhaps this one actually has the spine to back it up. _

"Of course, good morning, Sir." She extended her hand to the man to shake his.

"We just received this." She passed the hastily scrawled memo to Lindsay, who in turn passed it along to Edwards. "Tech managed to trace an incoming call to Bristow early this morning."

"Yes, the woman receives many calls, Miss Reed." His trademark condescending tone matched by her own perfected 'screw you' sneer.

"From this man?" She handed him a photo. "This was taken from traffic camera surveillance a few blocks from her residence."

"It would seem we have a problem."

"No Robert, just a sign."

∞


	5. Bang Bang Part 5

Hi, here is part 5. I don't own any of these pretty characters, just having my way with them for a little while insert evil laugh here. Anyways, here it is, hope someone out there enjoys **  
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**Bang Bang. Part 5.**

Sydney pulled the heavy door to the side, the very sound of the shaking metal bringing back the familiar butterfly flutter in the pit of her stomach.

To say she had been surprised at the call she received was an understatement. The whole _Joey's Pizza_ line was now a moot point, but frankly, she was willing to accept any distraction if it meant extricating herself from the conversation she had been about to endure from Will.

A steadying deep breath, and she stepped over the grate, her mind quelling any past feelings or expectations. The last time she had been here was just before the fall of SD-6, the destruction of that agency sealing the door on any more late night conspiring with the Agent now standing before her.

"What's up, Vaughn?" She glanced at her watch. _Francie will kill me if I'm late..._Sydney did not much appreciate the immediate slump of her stomach at that thought.

"I was thinking, we could hang out, for old time's sake?" He looked around the dingy room, as if recalling his own memories of the place and the woman who had occupied more of his thoughts than probably healthy.

"Old times?" She felt her voice crack, just a little.

_What a sweet piece of irony, _Sydney mused. Just a few months, weeks ago even, she had wanted so very much to be in the situation she was in now; free of the constraints of her double agent status, free to explore the bond they had so vehemently formed. Looking up to his puppy dog eyes waiting so earnestly for a response, she couldn't deny the attraction was still there. Knowing he reflected her feelings in those eyes, her resolve floundered. Memories of late nights in that room, every brush of skin, veiled promises, tension that threatened to choke them both. _And every one of those nights he went home to another woman. _This woman, _Alice, _had fuelled most, if not all her doubts about Michael Vaughn, and the thought of him returning to her, always, could quiet her mind, but, _the heart wants what the heart wants, or something. _She sighed.

"Dinner, movie, anything you want!" He had bridged the gap between them now, a hair from taking her hand in his. "I know it's been like, crazy since SD-6 went down, but this is it now, what you worked for, what we both worked for. I've really missed, _us_, Syd."

Sydney studied him, he was grinning at her like an idiot, and she tried to offer a tentative smile in return.

"Hey? You there? Something wrong?" A reassuring hand warmed her shoulder.

"I had some rather..." she paused a moment, wondering just exactly how to put it; after all, it is certainly not everyday your Father tells you your best friend is...She didn't even want to think about it anymore"..disturbing news from Dad this morning."

Breaking his connection to her, she paced the room, not really even paying attention to what she was saying or his reaction, only silently hoping none of it was true. _I would know, _it was like a loop in her subconscious now. _What the hell would I do without Francie? _Sydney immediately admonished herself for such a self-centred thought. She should be asking herself what Francie could of done without the shadow of Sydney's professional life looming, but then she thought, that may as well be an admission to Francie's turn; there was no way Sydney was so ready to jump onto that wagon yet.

"Do you think it was wrong, to stay involved in Fran's life, Will's? After finding out the truth about SD-6 and all this Rambaldi nonsense, I mean?" She paused a moment, unsure of herself, "I think I let things get too personal."

Sydney knew the consequences of the games she and Vaughn played. He, the knight in shining armor guarding over her, his eternally imperilled princess. The reality that he had another princess waiting for him at home, was a truth she found she could conveniently forget in his presence, but it was something she realised was always there. Between his "_It's over, Alice and me.."_ and "_Thanks for saving my life, but me and Alice..."_ she had been lost in a sea of stolen glances and unspoken words. And so what if she paraphrased his _break up_ speech, she made a deal with the devil to save him after they both contracted the Rambaldi virus; not only did she lose her knight, but the devil always has fine print hidden way down there in the contract.

She could literally feel the ire burning through her again on recollection of that mission. Her fists clenched by her side, she couldn't quite suppress the "Sark..." that angrily spat past her lips.

"Excuse me?" Vaughn was momentarily confused, and gently pushed her to arm's length to see her face, looking for a clue to her sudden outburst.

"Yeah, like you don't think that bastard's involved in all of this." She massaged the bridge of her nose with her fingers, trying to gather her thoughts. At the mere mention of Sark's name, Vaughn's grip on her arms instinctively tightened.

"I'm not sure I follow you, Syd? Is this about Francie, or..." he swallowed the lump forming in his throat, not certain he really wanted her to continue.

"With everything...with us." Sydney broke free of his hold on her, tried to put some distance between them, regulating her breath, attempting to hold back the gleam clouding her vision. "Our work; friends, enemies, it's all a blur sometimes." Raising herself to his crumpled gaze, "Is it worth it?"

"Syd..." And Vaughn did what any other man would do in his situation, he returned her to his arms and silenced her with a kiss.

∞

A few blocks away, Sark sunk low into his seat, adjusting his earpiece. It had been a fairly mundane morning. Discreetly tailing his mark in his midnight blue BMW, _if such a machine could even be considered discrete_, he thought with a lazy smile, his finger tracing the velvety frame of the window. Small talk with her friends, he had no interest in; the likelihood of a confrontation with Francie was nil. He had switched off then, until he noticed her speed off not long after in her own vehicle. He wondered if the monster truck was some sort of disguise in and of itself_. Who would expect a woman of Sydney's calibre to step out of that beast?_

He supposed there were better things he could be doing with his time, but he needed some sort of confirmation the elder Bristow had indeed discussed matters with his daughter. The last thing he wanted was coming to the rescue, he rolled his eyes at the thought, and have a few new holes in his chest thanks to a flighty Agent Sydney Bristow. Of course, even with her prior knowledge, there was always the chance of gun play where Miss Bristow was involved.

"_I had some rather disturbing news from Dad this morning..."_

_About bloody time,_ he had the sneaking suspicion the conversation was about to head into territory he did not have the stomach for. The almost inaudible tremble in her voice, loud in his ear; footfalls pacing, and following. He shook his head as his hand reached to remove the listening device.

"_Sark._" No-one could quite manage to convey the same level of contempt for his name the way Sydney Bristow could, he thought. And it certainly pleased him to no end he could be the source of some bother for her even in his absence, although he did ponder what he had done this time to earn such scorn.

"_Is it worth it?"_ The last he heard before he flicked the device onto a small case on the passenger side seat. His expression narrowed as he processed those words, fingers tapped the steering wheel.

Paldiski, Estonia. Several months earlier.

_She was looking up at him with such utter disdain, he could not help but smile. He briefly wondered how he managed to keep so interested in this whole nasty business before she came along. He told her they were destined to work together, this he knew to be true. Whether it was due to the hand of fate, or the machinations of a mastermind, was still up for debate._

_He headed downstairs to the decontamination room where Sydney was undergoing a rigorous scrub down, clearing her of any of chemical residue._

"_Leave." The lab assistants nodded to the young man, leaving him to study the woman as he stood in the doorway._

_Her skin was raw, hair stringy and clumped on her shoulders and neck. Sark could only imagine the steely expression on her pouty lips right now, the one that usually preceded an aching jaw for the rest of the week. His hand rubbed his cheek absently. Instincts and training told him you take every opportunity to weaken your enemy. The competitive side of him said he never wanted to see Sydney Bristow weakened. At times, he wondered if she had to be the enemy at all._

_He moved across the room, a mere whisper behind her. Noticed the flutter of movement across her back as muscles contracted, tightening the grip she was seemingly holding herself together with. He was so close as to see the whites of her knuckles now and the intricate patterns of brush lines criss crossing her skin. But the matter of fact realisation of it all was, she had been through worse and he had most certainly done worse._

"_I really hope there is a facial and mud wrap to go with this, Sark."_

_His brow raised in amused interest._ "_I am afraid I cannot oblige you there, Agent Bristow. The skin peel offer still stands though."_

"_Think I'll have to pass, a girl can only take so much exfoliation, you know."_

_Two arms circled her waist and closed a creamy white towel around her. To her credit, he thought, she did not even flinch as his hands left the towel in hers. _

"_Frightful what some women would go through to please a man, don't you think?" _

_Barely an inch separated them as he stood behind her, momentarily mesmerized by the tiny pulse of the clench of her jaw under thick strands of hair, damp and patterned across her cheek and neck. His fingers stretched by his side, stuck between some perverse desire to straighten her hair to its' regular state of perfection, and knowing the millisecond before he touched her, she would likely break them. So he stood, and she stood, and for a moment all he could hear was her breath as he imagined the millions of reasons she was no doubt processing in her mind why fighting him in nothing but a fluffy towel was the worst possible thing she could do at this moment. _

_He angled in closer, his mouth so close to her earlobe he could see goose pimples rising as his breath caressed her skin. "He's not worth it." So breathy and low was his voice, Sark barely recognized it as his own, but the flash of momentary awareness across her face told him enough. _

_He stepped back as if burned. Sydney had been so close to him she almost toppled back with the momentum of his movement. Two steps and he turned, headed for the door, already calling to a lackey to be ready to supervise her removal from the complex._

"_This is all for nothing without some moisturization, you bastard!" She called out to him, he was already down the hall. _

_He stopped in his tracks, and turned back, poking his head through the door. "I look forward to working with you too, Agent Bristow." He'd be damned if he was going to let her get the last word in._

∞

Vaughn pulled away, tucked an errant strand away from her face. "I'll make it worth it, Sydney. Trust me."

Sydney wasn't sure when Vaughn had become so _forward. _Admittedly, it was never an issue before, but she was a little shocked by his sudden advance. Her fingers slid through her partner's silky locks. Perhaps it was less the kiss and more the stream of thoughts spewing forth in the wake of her recollection of Sark's _words of warning, _that were disturbing her. She mentally kicked herself, it wasn't like she gave a rat's ass what someone like Sark thought, but even months after the fact, she was still smarting over the incident. So Sydney did what any other girl would do in her position, she kissed Michael Vaughn, even as she continued to ponder the man who took much greater liberties than the one before her at this moment. Her one hope being, she would never have reason to hear the mocking tone of Sark's 'I told you so'.

"_Leave." _

_Sydney rolled her eyes. She was standing, naked, in a grimy, hovel of a room, under the glare of a man more used to the view of the backside of her hand, not her ass. She was screwed; no matter what fiendish plot he had up his impeccably tailored sleeve, there was no way in hell he was going to bait her into any physical exertions, whatsoever. _

_She sensed him close the gap between them, his lightfootedness giving him the air of a creature of grace, but Sydney likened him more to a snake, slithering and sinister. Her eyes felt raw from the fumes, her skin more so from the vigorous scrub down she had just endured. Hair was tickling her nose, but Sydney merely squeezed her arms a little tighter around her chest. _

_Her mind was racing, pros and cons, win or lose, fight or flight? As soon as he entered the room, she felt the distinct shift in power to their antagonistic dynamic. It was her prerogative to think if a score card were tallied, she would have been the current leader in their little game of tug of war, but all her wins were starting to lose their shine, and he did have the home ground advantage for now._

"_I really hope there is a facial and mud wrap to go with this, Sark." She knew diversionary tactics were of no use in her situation, but she would not give him the satisfaction of any of this being more than an inconvenience to her, at best._

"_I am afraid I cannot oblige you there, Agent Bristow. The skin peel offer still stands though." She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him once more. _

"_Think I'll have to pass, a girl can only take so much exfoliation, you know." _

_It was as if reality, or at least her hold on it, suddenly up and left and told her she was on her own. His arms encircled her with a white, fluffy towel. Was this his way of telling her she was sufficiently attired to engage him in a round or two, or was he really just giving her this one concession? It didn't matter, she still couldn't stop her mind screaming, 'Sark saw me naked!'_

"_Frightful what some women would go through to please a man, don't you think?" 'Yeah, no shit.' _

_She stifled a laugh which threatened to expose her unbreakable exterior, unsure if he was making social commentary in general, or if he actually knew for who and why she was here in the first place. 'What the hell is he playing at?' _

_He hadn't moved, gave no suggestion he would anytime soon. 'Right, well, this is getting uncomfortable.' He was not touching her, but was so close, she could see the tops of his polished shoes parallel to her bare feet. She felt as if under the scrutiny of a bird of prey, a vulture hovering, ready to plunge for his meal. Peripheral vision showed his finger tips stretching by his side. She knew she was grinding her teeth, guarding herself against whatever threat he was preparing himself for. But he stopped, and she felt him closer, a shiver tickling down her spine as his breath on her neck intimated his exact proximity. _

_Spy instincts went out the window. 'What the hell? Jesus, I know I he's cocky, and I've told him so any chance I've had, but what the fuck, he's going to kiss me?' Sydney was no longer thinking as Agent Bristow, she was just Sydney who was confused to all hell. She was caught somewhere between blinding fury at the utter assuredness of his advances and her body, against all reason, leaning back into his. _

"_He's not worth it." And in a flash of comprehension, she realised her stupidity. He just wanted to drive the knife in a little more, to taunt her, knock her down another couple notches. How he even knew about Vaughn, she had no idea whatsoever. Her cheeks were on fire and Sydney wondered if she had ever been more embarrassed at any time in her life. 'How could I of thought a delusional maniac like Sark could be thinking of kissing me!' She thought for a moment the fact he was a delusional maniac was the reason for a great deal of things, but that was an even worse train of thought to be boarding. Not even the psychos can be bothered. _

_She wanted to sigh and scream and knock that look off his face. He seemed shocked, but she knew that was just the universe and her subconscious playing tricks on her again. Sark moved so quickly from her she had to steady herself to stop from falling on her rear in a heap. Barely enough time to cast a backward glance, and he was gone._

"_This is all for nothing without some moisturization, you bastard!" Sydney was yelling in frustration more than anything. _

"_I look forward to working with you too, Agent Bristow." And then as if his crimes weren't worthy of a lynching already, he did the unthinkable; he winked at her._


End file.
